Murder with Lens: A Sherlock Holmes Case (221B Baker Street Series) by S.K. Lloyds

Langley.”
    She did a staggeringly good impression of Young, “There’s no time in life for fairy tales, Reese.”
    Holmes smiled in spite of himself. Even her body language had been a match. She was good.
    Reese returned to kneel by her laptop. “Yeah, the guy is sick for reals. Here comes his face again. You ready for it, Sherlock?”
    He touched his temples, almost as if blocking out the room, and stared. “Go.”
    She started the video rolling again, slowed it – John wasn’t sure how – and then stopped it as the man half-turned. “Go open the door, John.” she said quietly.
    He got up, eyes on the screen, and opened the black-papered door. That done, he walked up to stand beside Sherlock. Reese zoomed the screen. “I’m printing it for Lestrade.”
    “Why?” Sherlock turned her way.
    She didn’t look up. “Because he brings me lattes, and I don’t even have to ask for them.”
    Holmes’ brows pinched together. “He does?”
    “And he took me to buy a coat this morning.” Reese seemed very serious about this. She walked over and picked up a pale pink faux fur coat with leopard spots. “I was cold. So he took me.”
    John smiled at her. “It’s very you.”
    Her face lit up, “Thanks!” She laid the coat on the couch and went to the printer.
    It was about that time that the CIA arrived. They briefly clotted the door. Reese looked at them curiously. “What’s wrong?”
    Young said, “Reese, you know you’re not to lock Lewis out.”
    “I didn’t.” Reese smiled prettily.
    “Sherlock,” Young sighed; it put a smile on Holmes’ face. She turned in his direction. “You’re certainly a handful. I really didn’t know what we could expect out of a rogue… but your deductions are exceptional. Reese had come to the same conclusions, of course, but she’s had the advantage of working this case for months. Impressive.”
    “Good news. Ree has him on video.” Sherlock told Lestrade as the man entered the room. “Let’s go get him.”
    Reese held up the print-out. “You know this loser?”
    Lestrade’s brows went down. “Friend of yours, Sherlock?” He leaned on the doorframe, utterly unruffled, no matter what the CIA had feared might be going on in here.
    “Don’t be ridiculous. But I do know of this man. It’s just stunning luck that he’s in town. He’s Russian,” Sherlock swept to the laptops and started the browser. He typed so fast and perfectly that it looked like a computer was generating text, rather than a human being. He pulled up a list of wanted criminals and selected one. “This is him.” He turned to Ree.
    She smiled at him. “You’re pretty handy, Sherlock Holmes.”
    “Thanks,” he sighed in satisfaction and looked up at the Cyrillic on screen, which said Аркадий Делов. “Arkadiy Delov has been called the Archangel of Death. He’s a very bad man, with a very bad habit. He loves the rush of carrying around the weapons of his trade in public. Suffice it to say, he didn’t go through an airport scanner to get here.”
    Reese ignored a sharply disapproving look from Young when she laughed at this. “He’s pretty stupid, this guy. The murder weapon’s between his ears. It’s always with him. What a moron.”
    Sherlock pointed at John. “We need to go.”
    “Sherlock,” Lestrade held up his hands. “Wait a second, here. Delov’s a really bad bloke, and I can’t have you running off on your own like that. I’m going with you. We’ll take Donovan.”
    Calmly, Sherlock turned and said, “I think we should arm my assistant.”
    “I think we shouldn’t.” Lestrade said. “We can’t have him going about shooting people. He’s a civilian, Sherlock.”
    “He’s an ex-soldier and a better shot than anyone here.”
    John shook his head. “Sherlock, I don’t need a gun for this one. I trust Donovan and Lestrade.”
    “That’s curious,” Sherlock said on his way out the door. “I don’t.”
    “Assets have a lot of trust issues,”